You Can't Always Get What You Want
by scottishvalkyrie
Summary: Jet kicked open a door and tossed both Faye and Spike inside with such force that they both lost their balance. If you two are going to keep acting like children, Jet shouted, then you both get a timeout!


* * *

**You Can't Always Get What You Want**

* * *

Jet had finally had enough. Their bickering had finally broken him, and it needed to stop. He strode down the hallway to the common area, where Spike and Faye had been trading insults for the past several hours.

_Words, words, words,_ thought Jet. He didn't even care what the words were anymore. But he collared both of them and dragged them down the corridor. He kicked open a door and tossed them both inside with such force that they both lost their balance. "If you two are going to keep acting like children, then you both get a time-out!" Jet slammed the door and locked it from the outside.

By the time that Spike had collected himself, the door was already shut. He pounded on it for a few moments before coming to the conclusion that Jet had, indeed, locked them both in. "Nice one, Romani."

Faye was furious. She picked herself off the floor and shouted, "You're blaming this on me!"

"Do you see anyone else?"

"Open the door."

"I can't. Jet's locked us in here."

Faye threw up her arms in disgust. "Wonderful. Stuck in the middle with you."

Spike smirked. "You _do_ see someone else in here."

"It's a 20th-century Earth reference, you idiot."

"I knew that. I just wanted to see you get that wrinkly frown on your face again."

"Damn you!" Faye grabbed a pillow from the bed and hit him in the head.

"If you're going to do that, aren't you supposed to be in your underwear?" This earned him another smack in the head with the pillow. "Oh, sorry. You are in your underwear. Or at least what the fashionable street walker is wearing this season." Faye went ballistic, and began hitting him with the pillow for all she was worth.

After several minutes, she got tired, so she dropped the pillow on the floor, and sat down Indian-style on it. She crossed her arms, blew her hair out of her eyes, and grunted.

Spike burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. This spitfire of a woman, whom he knew was deadly with a Glock when she wanted to be, and just beaten him up with a pillow. And the look on her face was priceless. She looked as recalcitrant as a three-year old. Spike held his gut as he continued to laugh. He finally gained enough control so that he could look at her, and damned if she wasn't scowling even more. This sent him into another fit of laughter, one that caused him to slide down the door as tears ran down his face.

After a while, Faye growled, "Are you finished?"

Spike was still laughing. "God . . . I hope so . . . the _look _on your _face_ . . ." He knew he seconds away from getting smacked with something else, possibly her fist, if he didn't get it together. When he finally got himself more under control, he rubbed his face with both hands, and then finally braved another look at her. She had a more passive look on her face, thank goodness, and Spike was able to finish riding out the residual chuckles.

Faye pursed her lips. "I don't like people laughing at me."

Spike smiled. "What a terrible character flaw."

"I'm serious."

"I think that's most of your problem, Romani, you take everything too damn seriously."

"And you're saying you take things lightly? That you roll with the punches?"

"I haven't gotten an ulcer yet."

"I think you don't have any feelings whatsoever."

Spike smirked. "Already playing the bastard unfeeling male card? You've lost your touch."

"You know, I actually do get tired you riding my ass all the time."

"When have I ridden your ass, or any other part of you? I do my best to stay across the room," Spike chuckled.

Faye flipped him off.

"See? Now there you go again, insinuating that you and I do have some freakish sort of sexual relationship. Who gets the ball gag tonight?"

Faye leaned against her wall and looked away. "I give up."

"Oh, now don't say that. C'mon, Faye."

"Leave me alone."

Spike saw a slight chin wobble. _Jesus._ "Sorry," he muttered. Faye dashed a tear away with the side of her hand. "Faye. Please don't. I'm sorry."

"Leave me _alone_," she repeated, her voice breaking on the last syllable.

Spike sighed. He'd gone too far again. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

Faye, determined _not_ to cry, was thoroughly pissed off with herself when she couldn't stop the tears. Then she heard something sliding across the floor and tap the pillow she was sitting on. She looked down to see a box of tissues by her hip. She muttered, "Thanks," and took one and blew her nose. Thankfully, Spike remained silent.

_That son of a bitch_, she thought. _How can he rile me so easily?_

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Do I _look_ okay?"

"Not exactly."

She harrumphed at him and blew her nose again, and wiped her eyes. "I hate it when you make me cry."

"I don't particularly enjoy making you do so."

Faye looked at him. He sat, knees up with his arms wrapped lightly around his legs. His head was still against the wall, his eyes closed. "I don't believe you," she said.

Spike opened his eyes and gazed at her. "You say that a lot about me."

"You've never given me any reason to believe you about anything."

"Seriously, Faye, what do you want from me?"

"I want to know what your problem is."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "_My_ problem?"

Faye raised one in return. "Don't you _dare_ turn this around on me."

"If anyone has a problem here . . ." Faye began to prickle; he could almost see her hackles rising. "I think we _both_ have a problem," he finally said.

Faye hadn't expected this.

"We're both stuck in here, in time-out, and I suppose we should try to hash things out. We're obviously upsetting Jet and his domestic tranquility. Probably Ed's, too." Spike sighed. "And frankly, I'm tired of it all myself. Aren't you?"

Faye nodded, unable to speak.

"Then, ask me. Ask me anything. But be specific. And use small words. Ones that can get through to my male and inferior brain."

This got a small smile out of Faye. Now, faced with the one situation that she had dreamed of, planned for, she couldn't think of a single thing. She looked around, looking desperately for a place to start. All she could come up with immediately was, "Is this your room?"

Spike blinked. _What an innocuous question,_ he thought, but he had said that she could ask him anything. "Yes, it is."

Faye took in her surroundings. "It isn't what I expected."

"What did you expect? Playboy gatefolds and ten years worth of dirty laundry?"

"I don't know. Nothing quite this . . ."

"Orderly?"

"_Sterile_, was the word I was looking for. There's not a personal-looking item about this entire room. It looks like you could pack up your entire life in a rucksack and take off in a moment's notice."

"I can."

Faye looked directly at him. "Doesn't that bother you? That you can just pick up and go? It's like you're homeless."

"A home is just a pile of stuff with a cover on it."

"You're talking about a house. A home has memories, personal effects. . ."

"Where the heart is, you mean."

Faye shrugged. "Well . . . yes. Even Jet has made more of an impact on this ship as a personal space."

"It is his personal space. It's his ship."

Faye studied Spike for a moment. _So closed off_, she thought. She thought she'd try a different train of thought. "What were you like as a child?"

"Willful."

"That's it?"

"It's a broad question. You have to be more specific."

Faye fumed. "Does wool make your skin itch? Were you closer to your father or your mother? Did you have any siblings? Do you like beets? What was your best subject in school?"

"Wool does make my skin itch. I can't stand the stuff. I was closer to my mother, because my father was out on circuit a lot, and a lot of the time, we didn't go with him. I was an only child. I can tolerate beets, but stewed tomatoes make me sick. My best subject was band. I was clarinet first chair for a time." Spike laughed. "I'm sorry, Faye. I thought we covered some of this stuff that one night we all got drunk."

"I figured you were lying."

"There you go again. You automatically assume the worst about me." Spike got up onto his knees and opened a drawer on a nightstand. He pulled out a small leather-bound book, and he walked on his knees over to Faye. "Scoot over. Take a look."

Faye moved over a bit so Spike had some room, and he gave her the book. "Photos?"

Spike nodded. "Those are my parents. That's me . . . about 3 years old, I think."

Faye gazed at the picture of the small smiling tow-headed boy, standing between two adults. She smiled. "You had blonde hair."

"It went dark by the time I was five. And here . . ." Spike turned the page. "This is a snap of my father when he would go traveling. You've heard of revivals?" Faye nodded. "He wasn't as evangelistic as that. He was more of a street preacher, working in disadvantaged neighborhoods."

Faye was surprised. "He really was a preacher?"

Spike nodded. "Yes. Sometimes we went with him, sometimes not. My mother believed that I caught 'evil' because we went so many bad places with him."

"Did she really say that?"

"Yes. Here's her wedding portrait."

Faye traced a fingernail over the picture of a lovely woman with dark hair. _He has her eyes, _she thought. "What are their names?"

"Helen and Francis."

"Very old-fashioned names. However did you get the name _Spike_?"

"My father's uncle's name was Spike. Whether that was his real name, no one was ever sure. When I was born, he came to help out the family for a few days. He would carry me around the house, calling me his little Spike Jr. It just stuck."

Faye smiled. "So Spike isn't your real name?" Spike was silent. "It _isn't_." Spike gave her a look. Faye whispered, conspiratorially, "So what is your real name?"

Spike grimaced. "Joseph." Faye's eyes grew wide. "Faye, I swear to god, if you ever tell anyone, I will _kill_ you."

"I think I'll hang on to that bit of information. It's lovely blackmail material."

"You do and I'll tell everyone that your middle name is Louise."

Faye laughed. "Fine. My real middle name is much worse."

"What is it?"

Faye gave him a look. "We're talking about _you_ here. Don't get off task." Spike laughed. Faye went back to looking at the picture. She was so beautiful, and her son had inherited her fine features. "Are they still alive?"

"No."

Faye looked up at Spike. His focus was on the photograph. "What happened?"

Spike swallowed. "My father was stabbed when he was trying to break up a fight. He bled to death before someone called for help."

Faye caught her breath. "Oh, Spike. How old were you?"

"I was fourteen then. My mother died when I was nineteen." Spike went silent, then he turned the page. "This is a picture from my first day at school, the seminary."

Faye wrinkled her nose at the gangly child in the photo. He must have been about six, and his hair was closer to the color that she knew. It was in a horrible whiffle cut, though. "That's a terrible uniform. Almost as bad as mine."

"All school uniforms are awful. There was a Catholic girl's school across the field from us, and they had these ugly brown plaid things. Probably designed to ward off randy teenage boys."

"Did you really get kicked out?"

"Yeah, when I was fifteen. For fighting."

"Now that I did believe," Faye chuckled.

"Do you want to know what I fighting about?"

Faye looked at Spike again. He was looking at her. "Only if you want to tell me."

"One of my mates was making lewd comments about a girl at the other school. He started rumors about her because she wouldn't sleep with him."

"You were defending her honor?"

"Yeah. But fighting, regardless of the reason, was a zero-tolerance offense. We both got kicked out."

"What was his name?"

A pause. "You knew him as Vicious."

Faye drew in a quick breath. "You knew him _then_?" Spike nodded. "What was the girl's name?"

"I never knew."

Faye was flabbergasted. To think that this lunkhead would put himself into so much trouble for a girl whose name he didn't even know, sent an odd chill up her spine. Her other thought, that Vicious' tether on Spike reached so far back, also chilled her.

Spike rose. "Enough pictures."

"Aren't there more in there?"

"None that you need to see."

_Julia,_ thought Faye. Her mouth twitched. She watched as Spike crossed the room and put the book away. He sat on the bed. "So as you can see, I actually had a family. I didn't spawn from a slime mold, as much as you'd like to believe that."

"I wasn't thinking slime mold so much as I was thinking fungus."

Spike chose to ignore this comment. "Your family, well, I saw part of the tape you have."

"You're lucky."

"How's that?"

"You have pictures. The only pictures I have are on that tape. If I squint, I can see some of my family's pictures in the background. But I can't really see their faces. Sometimes. . . I really have to think about what they looked like at all."

Both of them went silent for a while. After a few minutes, Spike asked, "Do you mind if I take off my shoes? Get more comfortable?"

"It's your room."

"You could take off your shoes, too."

"My street-walkers?" Faye smiled.

Spike removed his shoes and tucked them under his bed. He removed his socks as well and balled them up. "Catch. Put these in the hamper next to you."

"Is _that _what I've been smelling?"

"Yes, my dear, pure, unadulterated Spike Spiegel funk. Yummy, isn't it?"

Faye laughed until she felt the socks hit her head. Then she shrieked and threw them back. "You're such a _jerk_, Spiegel!"

"Yah, so you keep telling me. If we're going to be stuck in here I'd rather be wearing something more comfortable."

"Don't let me stop you."

"Do you want to change? I could find something for you." Spike began pulling his shirt over his head.

"I'm okay."

"Look." However, by this point, he was bare-chested, and Faye found herself quite unable to look. Spike didn't notice. "I really do hate that outfit you're wearing. Or not wearing, to be more precise. I feel like I can't even look in your direction without feeling like a pervert. If that's the point you're trying to make, then it's working. However . . ."

Spike went to the bureau and opened a drawer. He pulled out one t-shirt, which he pulled roughly over his head, making his hair stick out even worse. He also pulled out a black, unadorned t-shirt. He then found a pair of knit sleep pants and handed them to Faye. He found another pair of pants for himself and took a look at Faye. She was looking right back at him.

Spike gave a little cough. "Excuse me."

Faye started. "Oh! Sorry." She covered her face with the clothes he had given her. She breathed in the scent of him that still remained on the clothes, even though they were clean. They also smelled of detergent, but not fabric softener. _Typical._ "Are you done yet?"

"You didn't have to cover your face. Here I thought you couldn't wait to get me naked."

"I wouldn't be able to hold in the laughter."

"Laughing's okay as long as you don't point." Faye did laugh at that, and she removed the clothes from her face. Spike was putting things away in the tiny closet, his back to her. She turned away herself and quickly changed into the clothes he had given her. However, the pants were so big that she had to keep rolling the waistband down in order to keep it from going fully up to her armpits. She heard a chuckle behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to see him looking at her. She blushed, regardless of the fact that she was completely covered.

She couldn't let him get away with making her blush. "Like what you see?"

"Much better, yes."

"I look like a _hausfrau_."

"Nah. You need curlers in your hair for that." Faye plunked back down on the pillow on the floor. Spike sat on his bed, leaning against the head rail. They went quiet again.

"Romani?"

"Yes, Joseph?"

Spike grinned. "What is your middle name?"

"Rosamund."

"That _is_ terrible."

"Worse than yours?"

"You tell me. It's _Decland_."

"What the hell kind of middle name is that, Spiegel?"

"Mother's maiden name."

"Oh." A few moments passed. Then Faye asked, quietly, "How did your mother die?"

Spike didn't answer right away. Then he said, "She never got over my father's death. The doctor said she had a heart attack. But she died of a broken heart."

Spike gazed at the ceiling. He had never told anyone that before. Why he felt he need to tell her, he had no idea. Then he heard Faye say, softly, "I'm sorry."

They remained quiet for some time after that. After a few minutes, Spike noticed movement in Faye's direction. She was stretching, her arms above her head. He watched as she silently moved into a spine twisting stretch. After a few minutes, she moved into the downward-facing dog.

"Yoga?"

"Hmm-mm."

"May I join you?"

Faye's head craned around to look at Spike, but she couldn't see him from her angle. "Come ahead." Spike moved next to her and moved into the position himself. They remained there, silent, until he heard Faye murmur, "Warrior." They both moved a leg into a triangle position, and then raised their bodies into the Warrior pose. Facing each other.

Both of them forgot how to breathe. Spike moved first, breaking the pose to brush her hair from her cheek. Both of them slowly moved into a standing position. Spike's eyes dropped to Faye's lips. They moved closer to each other.

And there was a loud pounding on the door.

Both Faye and Spike jumped, startled. They heard Jet yell through the door. "Have you two killed each other yet?"

Both Faye and Spike sighed, and in unison, replied, "No." They heard Jet move away, grumbling. They were still locked inside.

Faye began to turn away. Spike reached out and cupped her jaw. "Come back here." In one move, he pulled her back to him, dipped his head, and dropped his lips on hers.

Faye thought she would die.

And then he released her.

She opened her eyes to look into his slightly mismatched ones.

He said, "No."

And he turned away.

Rage like Faye had never known bubbled up inside her. With a growl, she _launched _herself at his retreating figure. He turned his head slightly, and his eye caught hers. And in his eye, there was something she had never seen before.

Fear.

And Faye had a moment of pure, unadultered joy: Spike was going to learn what it was like to truly fear a woman.

Spike had expected anger, but this fury was beyond his expectations. He managed to only sidestep Faye's attack enough to not get his eyes clawed out. As it was, she still managed to land punches on him as hard as any man was able to deliver. He felt a blow hit his eye, and her nails tore at his skin. Several more landed on his ribs and jaw. And meanwhile, she was screeching every name in the book at him, and even some he had never heard before. He was feinting, trying to avoid her blows and resisting the impulse to lay hands on her. But this woman was beyond control. He got a couple of shots in himself, and then tried to grab her hands, to restrain her, but she lost her balance and hit the wall behind him so hard he heard the bones in her fingers crack. With a howl of pain, she dropped to her knees, clutching her injured hand.

Spike dropped to his knees as well, saying her name over and over, grabbing her shoulders to shake her back to her senses. She gave a wail, and then reduced herself to harsh breathing, head down.

"Faye?"

She turned her face up to his. And she spit in his face.

He backhanded her across hers.

Both of them stared at the other for a long moment. Then they pitched into each other's arms. Faye was crying, and Spike's eyes were not exactly dry. They murmured apologies to the other until they were both unable to speak. Then they went silent, rocking each other as they knelt on the floor.

After a time, Spike murmured, "Let's look at that hand."

They released each other, and Faye sat down fully on the floor, presenting her injured hand to Spike. Spike sat down as well, swiped his arm across her face, and gently took her hand. It was trembling, and the fingers were already bruised and swollen. She gasped in pain when he attempted to move her fingers. He said, "Stay there." He got up and rummaged in a drawer. He returned with an elastic wrap and something that looked like a bent piece of plastic. He gingerly placed the plastic under her hand as a splint, and began to wrap it with the elastic bandage.

"You're not quite right, Faye."

Faye looked up. "What?"

"I would need two rucksacks to just pick up and leave. One of them would have to be for all of the first aid equipment I've collected over the years." He smiled wanly at her. She looked back at him with no expression on her face at all.

Spike got up again, this time returning with a pillow, an instant ice pack, and what appeared to be a bottle of Scotch. He positioned her so she could lean against the wall and gently set her splinted hand on the pillow on her lap, placing the ice pack on the splint. Then he sat next to her and opened the bottle, holding it out to her.

Faye looked at the bottle. "Single malt?"

"30-year old."

She read the label. "That's expensive stuff."

"My birthday scotch."

Faye took the bottle in her uninjured hand, but then stared at the bottle. "Why, Spike?"

"Because it's good stuff and you could use a drink."

"No, Spike, goddamnit! Not the fucking Scotch! Why? Why can't we . . ." Faye broke off.

"We almost just killed each other, Faye."

"Because you pushed me away."

"Because we would end up killing each other."

"_Julia_," spat Faye. "That fucking _bitch_. She's _ruined_ you."

Spike sighed. "Yes. She did."

Faye stared at Spike. He had finally admitted it to her. Perhaps he had finally admitted to himself, she didn't know. "But as far as you're concerned, it's not even worth your trouble to try." Spike remained silent. "You told me once that you wanted me so badly that you felt pagan. That you wanted nothing more than to molest me 'seven ways to Sunday' I think, were your exact words."

"I remember."

"Then, what? What is it? I don't understand!"

"I can't give you what you want."

"I want _you_," wailed Faye.

"Right now, we could get on that bed and screw each other's brains out, and it would be fantastic. _Magnificent._ Christ, I've dreamed about it as long as I've known you."

"_But what_?"

Spike looked right into her eyes. "Would that be enough for you?"

"Yes," she snapped.

Spike shook his head, but held her gaze. "No, it wouldn't. You can't get blood from a stone. You can't receive love from a man who has no idea how to give it."

Faye was trembling. "You could learn. _Anything's_ possible."

"You may be right, but do you want to spend your life waiting to find out? And hate me because you banked on a promise I couldn't fulfill? You already hate me, Faye, for that very reason. I can't live with that, Faye."

She couldn't speak. Because, oh god, he was right. He may be completely wrong, but she knew he was right. She would eventually hate him. She hated him already. She was ready to cheerfully kill him just a few minutes ago. She should have killed him.

But then she would have to kill herself.

They sat for a while, looking at each other.

Finally, she said, "Are we going to be okay?"

He said, "I hope so."

She said, "I love you."

He said, "I love you, too."

She closed her eyes, relishing in the words because she knew he would never say them to her again. Not like that.

She opened her eyes and said, "Spike?"

"Yes, Faye?"

"Would you please kiss me one last time?"

Spike granted her request. Both of their throats felt thick. They lingered in the kiss for some time, both of them tasting each other's tears. When the kiss ended, they placed their foreheads together. Faye took a deep breath, and murmured, "If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

"I will."

Twelve hours had passed. Jet had spent the night actually getting a good night's sleep, once the screaming stopped. He thought he might have to go in and intervene, but it had quieted down before he could reach the door. Jet had listened with his ear to the door for a few moments, and he heard the two of them talking. He didn't hear any more commotion, so he hoped that they had gotten their anger or lust or whatever it was out of their systems.

He quietly opened the door and waited a moment before peeking inside. They were both lying on the bed. Spike was on his back, feet crossed. His eyes were closed. Faye was curled up against him, her hand on his chest. It had been bandaged, and Jet wondered if that had been the result of the pounding noise he had heard.

Without opening his eyes, Spike said softly, "Is our time-out over?"

"Did you two work things out?"

"I think so."

"Did you learn anything?"

Spike sighed, "That I'm a dickless wonder goddammed son of a bitch, most likely with an Oedipal complex, and that I will never be able to please any woman." There was a chuckle from Faye. He looked down at her. "Is that about right?"

"It's a start."

Jet snorted. "Whatever. I don't know and I don't care what went on in here. I just hope you two worked some things out, because I'm sick of listening to both of your crap." Jet then turned and stomped down the hall, leaving the door open.

Faye and Spike remained where they were. Finally, Spike said, "Did you learn anything, Rosamund?"

Faye was silent for a moment. Then she sighed and said, "Well, Joseph, I learned that you can't always get what you want."

Spike gave her a squeeze with the arm that he had wrapped around her. "I hear, though, that if you try sometime, you find you get what you need."

* * *

_---the end---_

_You Can't Always Get What You Want_, the Rolling Stones.

_I apologize to all Faye and Spike fans. **Flame me if you wish**. I'm a big girl._

_Thanks to my Hubster, who continues to encourage me to write this stuff, although he is asking again about my Prozac intake._

_Helen and Francis were the names of my mother's parents. Joseph was my grandfather's middle name. As far as Spike's and Faye's middle names were concerned, my belief has always been that a child should have a middle name that he or she hates._

_I simply never thought his name was actually Spike._


End file.
